Biotech, more than most sectors, runs not just on capital—but on belief. And where belief goes, myths follow. Wrapped in jargon, PowerPoint gloss, and the occasional cameo from a Nobel laureate, the fundraising process in biotech has become less a rational exchange and more a high-stakes morality play.

One of the oddest things about biotech investing is how often everyone agrees. We agree on the hot areas. We agree on the problem statements. We agree that AI is important, that neuro is hard, that oncology is hot, and that “platforms” are more scalable than “one-trick ponies.” And

The myth of the one big exit is a seductive one. It is the fairytale biotech tells itself over and over: that success is a singular event, a sudden upward arc, a euphoric liquidity moment that transforms your life and validates your existence. The IPO bell rings, the champagne flows,

Patient advocacy. It sounds noble, doesn’t it? Empowering individuals to shape the medicines they desperately need, bringing the human side to drug development, and building bridges between lab coats and living rooms. Yet, for many biotech startups, it feels more like an awkward blind date: full of potential but

Biotech and insurance rarely appear in the same sentence unless one is covering the other. One traffics in breakthroughs and billion-dollar valuations. The other concerns itself with probabilities, premiums, and the statistically inevitable demise of us all. Yet, it might be time for biotech to stop aspiring to become

There is a moment in every biotech startup’s lifecycle where the champagne has been corked, the deck has been revised, and the last round has closed. The press release is out. The milestone has been hit. And then—utter silence. No new data for 12 months. No major inflection

There is a quiet confidence with which financial analysts deploy the discount rate—that tidy little variable in a discounted cash flow (DCF) model that purports to capture the riskiness of future earnings. In biotech, however, this confidence is almost always misplaced. To apply a neat, fixed percentage to an

There’s a certain temptation, once things start working, to exhale. The team is humming. The product is shipping. The pitch deck hasn’t been updated in two months because, for once, nobody’s asking for it. The metrics look decent. The cash balance looks respectable. You might even start

Every founder eventually learns the same lesson: the market does not care about your milestones. It doesn’t care that your trial data is almost in, or that your deck is sharper than ever, or that you just found product-market fit after 18 months of wandering the desert. When

There’s a certain kind of career that doesn’t start with a big idea or a grand strategy. It starts with reading the fine print. Not because anyone asked you to. Not because it was glamorous. But because you were curious, or maybe just stubborn, and decided to pay